A Warrior's Heart
by illrain666
Summary: To have the heart of a warrior is to deny one's own desires.


A Warrior's Heart

_A warrior's heart is brave._

Sif had never feared anything in her life.

She had not feared the censure of her family or the disapproval of the nobility when she made the choice to become a warrior. She had not been afraid during any of the innumerable battles and adventures that she had gone through to prove herself worthy of a place in Asgard's army. She had not been frightened every time a blade came too close to ending her life. She had merely laughed and moved on to face and conquer another danger or obstacle in her way.

But she felt oddly nervous now as she prepared to spar with Asgard's second-born prince.

She had not seen Prince Loki in years. The King and Queen had sent him to the Vanir to be schooled in the arts of magic a century ago, and he had only recently returned upon the summons of his mother. She remembered him being a pale, thin, solemn-faced boy. He was still pale and solemn-looking, but his lean body betrayed no sign of weakness or ill conditioning. He did not move like a warrior, as his brother and her friend Thor did, but he was surefooted and graceful. And when she looked into his eyes and his inscrutable green gaze looked back into hers, she felt a shiver travel down her spine.

_Assassin_, her soldier's instincts told her. _Be very wary of him_. As she contemplated this thought, she had to wonder what the King must have been thinking to allow his younger son to learn ways of fighting no proper Asgardian would ever use. There was no honor in winning a victory through trickery or deceit, and she was suddenly very certain those were Prince Loki's preferred methods when it came to dealing with his enemies.

"Are the two of you going to study each other all day, or are you going to fight?" Thor bellowed, impatient to see how his little brother would fare against one of his battle comrades. Loki had never taken to swordsmanship as he had, and when the younger Prince went away to study magic, Thor had fretted that he would end up completely neglecting his warrior's training as he buried his nose in boring old books. So he had arranged this sparring session in order for him to gauge how rusty Loki's fighting skills had become and then come up with a plan on how he would be able to get him into fine form once again. He had enlisted Sif's help because, of all the warriors he knew, she was the most strategically brilliant fighter. If anyone could put Loki through his paces properly, Sif would be that person.

At Thor's words, Sif cleared her mind of all extraneous thoughts and focused completely on Loki. She would test his mettle as a warrior and see if he could be made a proper Asgardian fighter yet. With a war cry springing from her lips, she suddenly lunged towards him with her blade ready to cut flesh and spill blood. She fully expected him to draw his sword and parry her attack—because that was how it was supposed to be done, _damn him_—but he did not oblige her.

Instead, Loki sidestepped out of her way neatly. He moved so fast that she did not realize he had managed to land a blow on her until pain bloomed on her side. She grunted and immediately adjusted her manner of attack. So he did fight like an assassin. Well, she would just have to be more cunning in order to best him.

For the next several minutes, they moved in a deadly dance. He never once drew his blade, opting to avoid her sword strokes and strike out with his lightning-quick fists instead. She was trying to tire him out, but he looked indefatigable. But what really began to frustrate her, and unnerve her more than a little, was how expressionless he looked. She had always been able to gaze into an opponent's face and divine the next move he was going to make by a mere twitch of his eye or lip, but Loki's countenance did not give her a single clue about what he was thinking. For the first time, her confidence in her skills wavered. She did not know if she _could_ beat him and, as soon as she made that realization, she had to laugh.

That caused him to raise an eyebrow. "Do I amuse you, Lady Sif?" he inquired politely in his smooth, low voice. The bastard did not even sound like he was winded.

She grinned. "I think I'm going to enjoy beating you," she said. He might not fight like a proper Asgardian, but he was still a very worthy foe. She could learn a lot from sparring with him. "So, when are you going to stop toying with me and really show off what you can do?"

His lips twitched as he quickly smothered a smile. And Sif felt like she had passed some sort of test in his eyes for recognizing that he had actually been restraining himself from displaying what he was fully capable of in their fight. Then, without warning, Loki went on the attack. She tasted the tang of magic in the air and she was suddenly surrounded on all sides by replicas of the Prince. They moved as one to subdue her and she fought them off furiously. Which one was the real Loki? If she could only run her sword through the real Prince, then his illusions would be of no use to him. She dispatched one copy after another, but others kept coming and she was no nearer to defeating him.

Then she felt the cold steel of a knife against her throat. "Are you still enjoying yourself, my Lady?" his voice murmured against her ear. She could feel his breath on her skin and she suddenly felt flushed.

"Well played, Your Highness," she replied huskily. The feel of his body as he held her against him caused a strange stirring in her breast. She was not familiar with the emotion, but she thought it had the flavor of fear. For what else could make her feel so oddly vulnerable?

"Loki!" Thor bounded to them with a delighted smile. "That was unexpected, yet brilliant, my brother! I applaud your creativity in battle."

Loki finally let Sif go and stepped away from her. She suppressed a shiver and would not meet his eyes. "Creativity?" He turned his back on her and faced Thor. "Others would use a different word for such tactics."

"Others do not have all the learning you have gained from your magic," Thor shrugged. "What use is your education if you do not apply your skills in battle?" He beamed at his brother with pride and then looked at Sif. "He would make a fine addition to our little company. A battle-trained sorcerer by our side is an invaluable companion."

She gave the elder Prince a quick smile. "I agree." But she still carefully avoided looking at Loki. She busied herself by cleaning her sword so she would not have to glance at him.

For the first time in her life, Sif felt like a coward.

_A warrior's heart is not divided._

She could no longer remember how many goblets of mead she had already drunk, but Sif felt that she needed more to still the burning in her stomach. She was currently trapped between the silent Hogun and the boisterous Volstagg in the warriors' table in Odin's Great Hall. The Royal Family was formally celebrating the return of the Prince Loki and the pretty speeches seemed to have no end.

She gulped more mead and, unwillingly, her eyes traveled to the golden throne at the end of the hall and lingered on a dark figure standing by the All-Father's right side, the place of honor for the one whose return they were celebrating. As she gazed at him, Loki suddenly shifted his head and his green eyes seemed to blaze across the crowd to lock on hers. She quickly looked away and signaled to a servant to pour her another drink. She could not understand why she was acting this way, like a—like a maiden in the presence of Thor or Fandral. A silly simpering maiden charmed by a pair of beautiful eyes and polished manners. Then she snorted in disgust at her fanciful thoughts.

Her attention was diverted when Fandral dropped into the seat before her, his face flushed and his entire appearance disheveled. It took no stretch of the imagination to deduce where he had been and what he had been doing. Sif snorted again, this time in disgust at her friend's neverending indiscretions. One day, an outraged father would catch him and he would be forced to marry one of the many maidens he regularly seduced. Then she would laugh when he realized that he could no longer play at being the dashing warrior once he was saddled with a jealous shrew of a wife.

"Greetings, one and all," he grinned at them cheekily. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing noteworthy," Volstagg grumbled in between bites of a roasted hunk of meat. "But the food in Odin's hall is, as always, excellent."

"No announcements?" Fandral wondered. "Such as, oh, a certain Prince's betrothal to a certain young lady of a noble family?"

Sif's blood chilled in her veins. "What is your meaning, Fandral?" her voice sounded like a snarl. She felt like a cloud of bleakness had come over her and she dreaded his next words.

Fandral leaned across the table so his low voice could only be heard by his three friends. "I have it on good authority that the real reason why Prince Loki has been summoned back to Asgard is to honor a betrothal agreement between the Royal Family and the House of Lief. He is to marry Lief's daughter, Sigyn."

More words came from Fandral's lips, but Sif no longer heard them. She was too absorbed in cursing herself for being a fool. She could not remember leaving the Great Hall and walking through the corridors of the Palace but, when she became aware of her surroundings again, she was hidden in one of the many alcoves that dotted the grand structure—and she was not alone.

"My Lady Sif." Loki stood so close to her back that his breath stirred the hair on her nape.

She did not turn to face him. She did not think she could bear it. "You should return to your feast. You will be missed," she said softly.

He did not move. Instead, he asked her an unexpected question. "Tell me, why did you make the choice to be a warrior?"

"Because it was what I wanted to be," she answered simply. "Why do you wish to know my reason?" Taking her courage in hand, she forced herself to finally look at him.

His face was shadowed and there was something dark in his eyes that she could not recognize. "You are fortunate," he told her. "You have the luxury and freedom of choice. The higher born tend to not be so lucky."

"The higher born tend to have more advantages," she pointed out.

"And more duties. And responsibilities," he rebutted.

"Do you wish not to be a Prince then?" she challenged him.

He seemed to consider her question carefully for a few moments, then he shook his head. "No. I was born to serve Asgard as its Prince, and I shall do so the best I can for all my days."

"And I choose to serve Asgard as a warrior," she said. "So we both are bound by our duties to the Realm."

"So we are," he nodded and merely stared at her for a good length of time. Then, hesitantly, he reached out a pale hand and brushed his fingers against a lock of her dark hair. Sif felt her breath catch in her throat. "Have I ever asked you to forgive me for cutting your hair when we were children?"

"Yes, you did. But you did not mean it." She was suddenly amused at the memory of his rebellious little face as his mother forced him to apologize for his nasty prank.

He chuckled, and the sound was so intimate that Sif felt as if she stood bare before him. "I was a horrid boy," he admitted. "But I think I can be a better man."

She looked into his eyes then, and she saw that he meant it. "I am sure you will be."

When he married the Lady Sigyn a few months later, Sif was one of his honor guard. And as she swore her loyalty and service to him as a Prince of Asgard, she ruthlessly smothered the wish that she was making a different vow.

_A warrior's heart does not break._

So much time had passed, and so many things had gone wrong. The universe had all changed them so much with one trial after another that she no longer recognized herself when she looked at her reflection. When she thought of the past at all, it was as if she was reliving the life of a stranger. But she did not like to think of the past. For some reason, its innocence was more terrible than the horror of the present.

When she came to see him, his green eyes glowed with rage as he struggled against his bonds. He looked like he wanted to wrap his twisted-looking hands around her throat and strangle the breath out of her.

"You!" he hissed. "Come to gloat, have you? Thor's stupid whore wants to see me brought so low? Well, take a good look, my Lady Sif. Take a long, good look at the Prince you betrayed. When I free myself, I swear you will suffer worse torments than this!"

"Loki." His name was all she had strength to say as the tears, so carefully concealed till now, finally escaped her eyes.

"You cry?" he sneered. "Such pretty tears, my Lady. But I do not care for your pretense of grief. You are a warrior and I am your enemy. Such a display of weakness does not become you."

"Loki," she repeated, her voice breaking. She slowly approached him, every step feeling like she was moving against an incredible weight until she was finally by his side. He stilled and glared at her as she gently touched his face. "They—," she struggled to find words, "They have devised a fitting punishment for your crimes. They will not kill you, for Thor will not allow it, but you will suffer. The only mercy I can show you is this." She took her knife and held it before him. "I can end this now. If you wish, my Prince."

A low moan came from his throat and his body started shaking. Through the blur of her tears, Sif realized that he was sobbing and saying her name over and over again.

"Sif," he cried. "Sif."

"Please," she had never begged for anything in her life, but she was begging him now. "Please let me do this for you. Loki, please."

"No." He shook his head weakly. " No, my Lady." He twisted against his bonds and tried to reach for her. But he was bound too tightly and he could not touch her. "Sif," he whispered, his voice raw. "Just go. Leave."

She took one last look at his face and could not see the man she had known. She nodded her understanding of what he had left unspoken and surrendered him to the darkness.


End file.
